


i'm coming (for you)

by darkangel0410



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No One Plays Hockey, Frottage, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: He tells himself during work on Friday that he won't and then when he’s hanging out at home on Saturday, he tells himself the same thing: he has better things to do than go to a bar and see a cover band, even if those better things are just watching the Islanders beat the Rangers and doing laundry.





	i'm coming (for you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waffles_007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffles_007/gifts).



> Wrote this for my bae, who's the only other person besides me who ships these two together.
> 
> Lyrics in the fic come from Hozier's Take Me To Church.

John’s pretty sure this isn’t the worst bar he’s been in, especially considering the dives Andy used to drag them to in college, but it’s close and years later it’s still Andy’s fault that they’re in places like this.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Jonny complains, looking at the wall for a long moment before gingerly leaning against it. “This is almost as bad as that place you used to drag us to in Chicago. Aren’t we too old for this?”

“We’re thirty, Jonny, not dead,” Andy rolls his eyes and presses a beer into Jonny’s hand before giving one to John and props his shoulder on the wall next to Jonny and looks around the large bar that was slowly filling up with people.

The tables were lined up against the far wall, making space for more people and there were a couple guys setting instruments up on a small, makeshift stage; it could have been any of the numerous times Andy had dragged them to see some local band, everything was almost the same, up to and including Jonny bitching about everything. 

“One of the interns said this band was amazing,” Andy adds, taking a sip of his own drink before grinning at them. “Besides, I said I’d pay for your drinks tonight, didn’t I? So shut up and drink your shitty craft beer, asshole.”

“Could be worse,” John says easily, playing peacemaker even if he was already regretting wearing his good khakis, “remember that time at the place in Brooklyn? With the dogs?”

“Point,” Jonny concedes, shuddering a little at the memory and even Andy looks pained at the mention of it. “As long as this place doesn’t end up getting raided, I’ll count it as a win.”

“That’s the spirit,” Andy tells him and gently clinks their bottles together; it’s Jonny’s turn to roll his eyes, but he looks fond and relaxes a little bit so his shoulders lose some of the tension he’s had since the beginning of the week.

“I'll be right back, guys, I need to use the washroom,” John tells them before dropping his empty beer in the garbage can as he makes his way through the crowd.

There’s enough people here now that it takes him a few minutes to get to the door for the bathroom and it’s not until the door’s already half-open and he’s mostly inside that he realises there’s already someone inside.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise there was someone...” John trails off, the rest of what he was going to say lost as he registers what’s going on in front of him.

There’s two people one of them leaning back against the sink and there’s a flash of skin as the person on their knees pulls back, and John can feel himself turn bright red, his face flushing hot as he tries to stammer out another apology and get his body to do something besides standing there staring.

“Don’t worry about it,” the guy smirks and looks John over with obvious interest; he pets the hair of the guy on his knees but keeps his eyes on John the whole time. “There’s more than enough of me to go around, if you want to stay,” he adds, his voice cocky and sure; John opens his mouth to tell him off, but the guy on his knees shifts and moves back, and John can see exactly why he sounds so sure of himself.

John’s not close enough to see any details, but the guy easily has one of the biggest dicks John’s ever seen outside of porn; he finally manages to drag his gaze away and look at the guy’s face for all of a second before he mumbles, “Sorry,” and flees back out the door.

He runs into someone on his way out and stumbles a little bit before righting himself. “Sorry, sorry,” John says, still flustered. 

The guy laughs it off and walks around him, heads towards the bathroom and John just can’t let someone walk into the scene he just left, it wouldn’t be right. “Don’t go in there,” he tells him, the words running into each other in his rush to get them out. “There’s someone in there,” John falters and waves his hand around when the guy looks at him in confusion; he can feel how red he still is and the guy must get what he means after John just opens his mouth and closes it a few times without any words coming out. 

“Jesus, is he in there getting his dick wet again?” The guy says, sighing in annoyance; he opens the door and calls out, “Get your ass out here, Kreids, we have a fucking show. Get laid on your own time, asshole.”

John leaves before he can hear whatever answer there might be; it’s even more crowded than it was before and it takes him more than a few minutes to make his way back to where Jonny and Andy were. Before he can say anything to them about what just happened, the lights dim and someone’s talking and he _knows_ that voice, he just heard it in the bathroom, offering him something filthy and John thinks it’s going to be a miracle if he makes it through the rest of the night without having a heart attack. 

“I’m Chris and we’re Strangers With Candy, thanks for coming out to see us,” Chris says, grinning; he’s wearing faded jeans that are frayed at the knees and a black t-shirt, nothing remarkable, but John can’t help the way his gaze keeps focusing on Chris’s crotch. 

He can feel himself turning red every time he realizes what he’s doing and just standing in the crowd _thinking_ about it makes him feel dirtier than he has since he was fifteen and discovered porn for the first time. John tells himself there’s no way he can see any kind of bulge from where he’s standing with Jonny and Andy, but that doesn’t stop him from constantly having to drag his eyes away and try to focus on something else. 

John tries to concentrate on the music, but he’s never really been into covers, so he ends up zoning out a little, trying to keep from thinking about earlier, until Andy elbows him and hands him another beer. He takes it and tries to smile, but he must not do a good job because Andy laughs and tells him, “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure they’re almost done. We’ll leave after the last song.

“Maybe sooner because I don’t think the bartender is going to want to deal with Jonny for too long,” Andy adds with another laugh; John looks over and sure enough, Jonny’s leaning over the top of the bar, gesturing with his hands and talking while the bartender looks more unimpressed with every passing word. 

Before John can say anything, there’s some moving around on the stage and Chris is speaking into the mic again. “This is our last song, but we’ll be hanging around after if any of you assholes want to buy us some drinks. 

“And anyone who wants to hang out,” Chris looks out over the audience, licks his lips and then smirks, his voice drops lower and John hates the way it makes desire pool in his stomach. “I’ll be there, too.”

John _knows_ it’s just an act, but it doesn’t stop him from imagining it for a few seconds, going over to Chris at the bar and flirting with him, getting close enough to kiss him. He flushes bright red again and looks over at Andy, like Andy's going to know what's going through his mind right now. Andy’s not paying attention to him at all, so John focuses back on the stage and the guy singing, and abruptly wishes he had cold water to bathe in.

“My lover’s got humor, she’s the giggle at a funeral, knows everybody’s disapproval. I should’ve worshipped her sooner,” Chris sings, voice low and rough; it scrapes across John’s nerves, makes him want to simultaneously get as far away from it as possible and stay so he can soak in more of it. “If the Heavens could speak, she’s the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday’s getting more bleak, fresh poison each week.”

John swallows roughly, blanking out a little for the next few words; he knows he needs to pull himself together, knows he’s in public and that he shouldn’t be feeling this worked up over what amounts to basically nothing, but it’s hard to convince himself of that when he feels like he’s on fire.

Jonny bumps into him when he comes back over, muttering about the quality of the beer, and it startles John, makes him lose his train of thought and the music and noise from the bar rush back in.

“Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,” Chris sounds even better to John now, leaning over the mic, face intense and so obviously into what he’s singing. “I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife, offer me that deathless death. Good god, let me give you my life.”

John makes some noise, hopefully too low for anyone to make out, but he can’t stay out here for the rest of this song; he nudges Andy and waves in the direction of the washroom before he leaves, making his way through the crowd as fast as he can.

The bathroom’s empty when he gets there this time, no one to see how flushed he is when he goes to the sink and splashes water on his face; he can still hear the music and the hum of voices but it’s low enough that he can steady his breathing and calm down a little. 

John takes his time, gets himself under control and steady again, and by the time he pushes open the door the song’s over and most of the crowd are still milling around. He goes over to the bar to get another beer before he goes looking for Jonny and Andy; he’s trying to get the bartender’s attention when someone brushes against him and John turns, expecting it to be one of his friends, not Chris.

John tries to step away from him, but he gets pushed from behind and stumbles into Chris and he’s sure his face is bright red; Chris laughs and steadies John with a hand on his hip, squeezing once before letting go and leaning against the bar.

“Thanks,” John tells him, clearing his throat and trying to sound normal; he turns back to the bar and tries to get the bartender’s attention again, even though it puts him within touching distance of Chris. 

“No problem,” Chris says with a grin. He looks John over before adding, “Thanks for sticking around for the show, glad I didn’t scare you off.”

John flushes bright red but refuses to look over at him. “It would take more than that to scare me,” he scoffs.

Chris straightens up and calls out, “Pat, get me two beers, dude,” before leaning over into John’s space, his breath warm on John’s ear. “Yeah? We’re playing again on Sunday, if you’re here, I’ll show you something even better than the sneak peek you got in the bathroom earlier.”

John shudders, breath catching in his throat; Chris bites his earlobe and then he’s gone before John can even think of anything to say. 

He’s still looking at the beer in front of him a few minutes later when Jonny and Andy find him.

*

John goes back on Sunday.

He tells himself during work on Friday that he won't and then when he’s hanging out at home on Saturday, he tells himself the same thing: he has better things to do than go to a bar and see a cover band, even if those better things are just watching the Islanders beat the Rangers and doing laundry.

He still finds himself at the bar, trying to ignore the real reason he’s there and nursing a bottle of beer for more than an hour; he’s just about to leave when there’s some commotion from the back and the door swings open, people carrying in equipment and instruments. John watches until he sees Chris helping someone else with a speaker, his muscles bunching under the shirt he has on, and it takes him a minute to look away again.

“Another beer?” Pat asks, a smirk on his face when John focuses on him; it’s the same guy who was there on Thursday and John hopes he can’t see how red his face is right now.

“No, thanks,” John answers, thinking of the Molson he just drank and internally wincing; he wasn’t as picky as Jonny was about his beer, but he could only take so much generic beer at a time. “I’ll just,” John trails off. He’s not sure what he’s doing, except making an idiot of himself and he’s tempted to leave before it gets any worse.

But he stays because he can’t help himself, not when he remembers what happened in the bathroom and his own reaction to it.

The place slowly fills up, a decent amount of people coming in for the show; John eventually gets another drink, coke and whiskey because he doesn’t think he can stomach any more of the beer they have, and watches the crowd halfheartedly, checking the score for the game on his phone and answering texts from Jonny and Andy.

John texts Jonny about the awful beer choices they have here and grins when Jonny tells him to fuck off; he’s at work again, trying to finish off the Greenwich will before the old lady harrasses him to death about making sure her cats are all taken care of when she passes on. She’s been with the firm longer than any of them have and her tendency to change her will every time she got a new cat was legendary, as was her changing lawyers on a whim within the firm. John’s had to deal with her enough that he’s glad it’s Jonny’s turn right now.

He’s just finishing his drink when someone drops onto the stool next to him and leans into his space; he’s not surprised when he looks up and sees it’s Chris that his mouth goes dry and his heart starts pounding.

“Hey, Brooklyn,” Chris says, voice low and warm, “Glad to see you could make it.”

“I didn’t have anything better to do,” John shrugs, tries to play it cool despite the way he feels his face heating up, “and my name isn’t ‘Brooklyn'.”

Chris laughs, the sound making desire pool in John’s stomach; he leans in closer, so his lips brush against John’s ear when he talks again. “I got some time before the show starts, want to go get reacquainted.”

“I, uh,” John’s breath stutters as Chris bites his jaw, then presses a kiss to the same spot, “don’t mess around in bathrooms.”

“You sure about that Brooklyn,” Chris says, scraping his teeth down John’s jawline before taking his mouth in a rough kiss.

He sounds cocky and smug, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to John and John wants to tell him to fuck off almost as much as he wants Chris to pin him to something and take him apart.

John tells himself he’s not going to do this, right up until he’s pressed against the bathroom door, making out with Chris while he rubs off on Chris’s thigh, close to coming in his pants like he never did in high school or college.

He’s still come dumb when he manages to get his hand down the front of Chris’s pants, so he thinks he can be forgiven for the noise he makes when he wraps his hand around Chris’s cock and realizes just how thick and big Chris is.

“Yeah, I knew you were going to be easy for it,” Chris tells him, his voice rough; he gives John a quick, hard kiss and bites his bottom lip before he starts talking again, placing biting kisses along John’s throat in between words. “Can’t wait to see you on your knees, bet you’d look so good with your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”

John squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall back; he knows he’s bright red, can feel how warm his face is because of what Chris is saying to him. He’s never done this before, really, not in the _bathroom_ of some random bar and the whole thing is surreal: the feel of Chris’s cock in his hand, hot and heavy, so thick and big that John knows he’s going to be jerking off to it for a long time after this is done.

John’s not very coordinated, his hands still feel clumsy and heavy, his brain not really back online yet, so he’s not even jerking Chris off; he mostly just has a hand curled around Chris’s cock and the other one fisted in Chris’s shirt. Chris is still into it, if the filth coming out of his mouth is any indication. 

“This is going to be so much fun, baby,” Chris tells him, his breath hot on John’s neck, “you’re going to love it when I’m fucking you.”

John moans at the thought, at the idea of Chris holding him down and fucking him, and he wants more than he should. 

Chris bites his neck, hard enough to sting, and John’s almost sure this going to end with him begging Chris for _more_ of whatever it is Chris wants to give to him, but there’s someone pounding at the door and it jolts John back to reality.

“Jesus fuck, Kreids, again?” The voice is muffled through the door but John understands it easily and he can feel himself flushing, his face hot with embarrassment at what he’s doing. “Get your ass on stage, dude, we have a show!”

“I’ll be there in a minute, asshole, go away,” Chris tells the person on the other side of the door, not looking away from John. “You should stick around, I’ll have some more free time after,” Chris adds with a smirk; he kisses John, bites his lip, and then he nudges John out of the way and is out the door.

John stands there for a long minute while his head clears; he feels like the past ten or twenty minutes were some sort of fever dream, despite how disgusting his briefs were starting to feel against his skin.

He splashes water on his face and tells himself that he needs to get out of here; it’s not that late yet, but he has work tomorrow morning and he’s already been out longer than he usually is on a Sunday. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and winces: he’s face is blotchy, beard burn marks on his neck and his hair is a mess. He looks like exactly what he was doing and it makes his face burn in shame and embarrassment.

It steels John’s resolve to leave and as he makes his way out of the bathroom and towards the bar, he tells himself he’s not coming back here again. 

It’s not until he tries to pay off his tab that he starts to change his mind.

“Kreids said don’t worry about it,” the bartender tells him; he’s wiping off the counter where someone spilled something and he looks like this is the funniest thing that he’s seen in years. He nods towards the stage where Chris was finishing a song John didn’t recognize. “Drinks on him if you want to stick around for the rest of the show,” he adds with a smirk before wandering down to where someone was calling for more beer.

John glances at Chris again, watches for a long second while he grins and banters with audience; desire pools in his stomach again at the sight and remembering exactly how amazing fooling around in the bathroom had been makes John reconsider staying for a while longer, ruined underwear notwithstanding.

Leaving without saying goodbye would be rude and John was nothing if not polite, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Chris's band, Strangers With Candy, was the name of my favorite cover band when I was in high school. In this AU, they cover everything from Hozier to Fall Out Boy to One Direction.
> 
> There's a lot of NDTP players sprinkled throughout this fic, even if the only one that's mentioned by name is Kreider, including the bartender and the other members of the band.
> 
> Jonny, Andy, and John all went to law school together, where Andy dragged them to a new bar almost every week to see local bands play. They all ended up in NYC so the tradition continued.
> 
> Chris calls John 'Brooklyn' because if looks like a hipster, talks like a hipster, and drinks beer like hipster, it must live in Brooklyn, yeah?


End file.
